Tales from La La Land

Apparently it is not common for ultrasound technicians to refer to girl parts as “labia”. I have gotten a lot of questions about my last blog, the most common being – did she REALLY say that?

First of all: This blog is straight non-fiction.

Second of all: Even IF I made shit up to make our lives seem more cool and interesting, there is no way in a million, billion, trillion years that the word labia would have ever come to my mind in regards to how I found out I was having a girl. I thought there was some unwritten universal rule that girl and boy parts are referred to as “pee pee” for at least 3 years.

Third: She was a doctor, so she was probably being all professional and whatnot. It was Laef and I who couldn’t handle hearing about our daughter’s labia and made it like a 6th grade science class all giggly and white-faced. (Seriously, you should have seen the look on Laef’s face when she said it).

Obviously, we’ve never been through this before so I had no idea that most doctors don’t show you the labia. (I am really just enjoying typing labia at this point because I am immature and it is STILL making me giggle). But, after talking to my sisters, my friend Allie, my friend Amy and hearing from other moms, maybe the labia-bomb was meant specifially for us so that I would have something to blog about! Yay!

When people (my sister) email or text me and say, “You haven’t written a blog in two weeks! I am sooo bored. Write something. What is going on?” I feel bad for the blog neglect, but because this is a blog about our lives, there are weeks that go by where I have nothing to write.

A typical day is:

7 a.m. Wake up
Me: “Do you need a lunch?”
Laef: “Yes.”
Me: “Fuck.”

8:12 Rush out the door.

8:20 Yell at the same bitch in the BMW with weird bumper stickers who I somehow get behind every fucking day on Wilshire.

8:35 Arrive at work 5 minutes late.

11 a.m. Eat my morning snack (the same snack every single day)

12:30 p.m. Gym at lunch

4 p.m. Afternoon snack (the same snack every single day)

5:30 Leave work and cuss the whole way home on Sunset

6 p.m. Arrive home. Feed Sanch. Kill time until my stories come on.

7:20 p.m. Call Laef.

Me: “Hi.”
Laef: “Hi. Is everything OK?”
Me: “Yes. When are you coming home? I’m bored.”
Laef: “Same time I always come home.”

7:45 p.m. Laef arrives home. He plays Sporacle or reads. I read/watch crap TV/nap.

8:30 p.m.
Me: “I’m tired.”
Laef: “Seriously. It’s 8:30″
Me: “K. I will push it til 9.”

9 p.m.: Go to bed.

I’m not saying it’s lame (OK, it’s kind of lame). I like my routine and I like structure. But it doesn’t really bode well for good blog stories.

And then one day Laef puts oranges under the Christmas tree.

Or our doctor says labia.

And a blog post is born.

If not for Laef, this blog wouldn’t exist. And I know when he’s really proud of something funny he has said or done because he will follow it with: “Blog that out.”

Yesterday was a big day for me in terms of this pregnancy. I hit the 20-week mark and all the books say, “Congrats! You’re half way there!”

Wait. You mean, I’m only half way? Is it me, or have I been pregnant for six years?

Secondly, we found out that we are having a baby girl!

I had the date of this ultrasound circled on my calendar, and had been trying not to think about it too much. But, the truth is, it was something to look forward to. Pregnancy lasts a really long time – almost a full year – and there are a lot of weeks where there’s just not much going on. This past week Laef was gone for five days, and by the 4th day I was feeling pretty lonely. It’s hard to explain, but let me put it in layman’s terms: I really want to go out for drinks with my friends.

This will probably make me sound like an alcoholic, but I can assure you that I’m not twitching or anything like that. I just enjoy social activity and being out with my friends. I don’t have any pregnant friends who want to come over and quilt baby blankets (thankfully). I’m still not showing (not counting my boobs) all that much so I could technically go to a bar with friends and no one would give the stink eye as to why there’s a pregnant chick in the bar, but, um, being stone sober at a bar with drunk people is just not fun.

Anyways, this is not a boo-hoo blog so moving along.

I was totally excited to find out the sex so that I could have something fun to think about, and more importantly, begin shopping for all kinds of cute things! Knowing that there’s a little girl in there makes it way more real, and way more fun. Like I already started telling her very important things that she will need to know, and we are already discussing why tattoos are really dumb, and how sex is actually not that cool until you hit 35. “I mean, you really don’t know what you’re doing before 32 anyway, so why bother?”, I told her.

So, my appointment was at 1 p.m., and Laef was lucky enough to get off work and come with me. As soon as the ultrasound tech put the camera on my belly she noticed that baby was sleeping with her legs firmly crossed and the umbilical cord sitting on top of her privates. Of course.

We decided to move along with measuring the head, spine, tummy, etc. We saw all 10 fingers and toes, two legs, two arms, two eyes, a straight little mouth and a healthy heartbeat. Finally after prodding around, the little peep rolled over, lifted her hand up and yawned. I mean, we saw her mouth open and yawn and it was the craziest thing ever.

Now that she was awake and moving around, we got the news:

Ultrasound lady: “See those three lines? That’s her labia! And that’s her clitoris.”

Me and Laef: ….

Me: “Her labia??? How are you seeing her labia??? What does a labia even look like on a 20-week fetus???”

Laef: ….

Ultrasound lady: “If it was a boy, it would be very, very obvisous.”

Laef: “That’s right. Especially my son.”

Ultrasound lady: …

Me: “I just can’t believe you can distinguish this. Amazing.”

Ultrasound lady: “Well, here’s one leg, and here’s the other. She’s spreading them now”.

Laef: “Ooookay. This better be the last time.”

So we get some pictures and a DVD of the whole ultrasound and go on our way.

Laef: “That better be the last time we talk about our daughter being spread eagle with her labia hanging out.”

Me: “What if somehow it is a boy and we have pink bedding? Would we just use pink bedding for the boy, or would we have to buy all new stuff? What would we do with all the clothes? OMG, I hope she is 100 percent right.”

Laef: “We will have bigger issues than the bedding. Like, our son’s penis looks like a labia.”

Me: “That too.”

Because I am a sucker for documentaries reality television, I have watched the movie Babies and an older movie called Nursery University. I watched both of these before I was ever pregnant, and Nursery University kind of scarred me, I guess. This is why when I came back from Christmas break I inquired with the UCLA childcare department. I was blissfully thinking I would just find out the cost and arrange to meet with them in order to set up childcare in September.

And then I got an email back about a wait-list application and that many parents have been on the waiting list for 1-3 years.

What the fuck? Laef yelled at me for inquiring about daycare 6 months before the baby is even born.

Me: 1, Laef: 0.

UCLA kindly directed me to a woman who has been placing babies in care for over 30 years all over the LA area. She told me three things: 1. UCLA is virtually the only place with a waiting list; 2) its cost is much higher than the average daycare and 3) The best time to start looking will be in June or July.

Me: 1, Laef: 1.

Likely our peep won’t be in UCLA daycare, which means it won’t get into a good elementary school, which means it will try pot at 13, average a 1.3 at an alternative high school and never see a college campus. And probably be a hooker.

This is the path that your mind can take if you let this shit take you over. I’m already waking up in the middle of the night hoping the peep’s first word won’t be fuck.

So, we’ve put the daycare issue behind us, and will revisit it later now that we have some peace of mind knowing there are good options.

Also upon returning from Christmas break I decided to pick a date for the baby shower and start thinking about setting up a registry. Baby registries are basically unnecessary as there are plenty of hand-me-downs floating all around, but it is needed if you are hosting a shower. So I’m told.

First of all, what the F do I know about what will be needed? I know nothing. I was so overwhelmed by Babies R Us’ “Must-have” list and “Would be Nice to Have” list and variety of nipples, swings, high chairs, strollers, etc.

This made me think of the movie Babies. And this is when I clicked off the registry and told Amy L. to pick out what would be needed because there’s no fucking way I really need a baby-wipe warmer. Or a nipple ice pack. Right? Tell me I don’t need a nipple ice pack. Tell me that there’s no rawness or pain and that it’s all peaches and rainbows, please.

Anyway, babies in Nambia don’t wear diapers and they play with rocks. And, they certainly don’t use baby wipes. At one point a baby dookies on the mom’s leg and she wipes it up with a leaf.

We have a small apartment and I certainly don’t want to fill it with lots of baby stuff. I mean, Sanchez has never played with a toy that has been bought. His favorite things are milk toppers, my earrings, Hershey Kiss wrappers and water. Don’t get me wrong, there will be stuff for the baby. But there won’t be toys falling out of closets.

But then you wonder: Will I have the right stuff? Will I have everything I need? Is this baby monitor good enough? Will this stroller last?

I just got the BoB Ironman running stroller and then I noticed that it was not on Babble’s top-10 strollers and I think I pondered returning it for 30 minutes before realizing I AM BECOMING A CRAZY PERSON. Of course a $350 running stroller is sufficient you putz.

Laef’s not trippin’ as much, but the baby does have a savings account already and it’s -6 months old.

So, yeah, we probably need to just chill for a while and rest assured that with my looks and Laef’s … um … sense of humor the baby is bound to be the next …

I’m not a big New Year resolution person. I think after 15 years of vowing to do something different/better/Oprah-esque only to wind up at December 31 as the exact same person I’ve always been, I realized that I’m just going to resolve to be me. And to be happy with the me that I am.

Besides, I’ve already given up drinking. And sushi. And I’m having a fucking baby in 2011. What more do I need to do to feel better about myself?

I did decide to try and be a lot more patient. Especially when it comes to driving around LA. So far so shitty, but there’s always tomorrow.

The holidays are gone and things have pretty much returned to normal. I loved having two weeks off. It was great to do things around the house, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to actually enjoying coming back to work. I like having a stable routine and things to do. I kept myself busy working around the house, but if I had to listen to Oprah talk about her tribe one more fucking day I was going to stab myself. Also, The View? Horrible. Of course all the good shows – Real Housewives, Top Chef – were on hiatus. Boo.

Other things I learned while spending too much time with my husband: Most things relating to pregnancy are best left to yourself. I was uber-excited about my new maternity underwear and when I showed Laef I am 99% certain that any thoughts of sexual activity disappeared for at least 22 days. He doesn’t need to see the huge clothes, the happy trail, the tears, the fears, the 12 pieces of Sees candy gone. He’s not going to be excited about the stroller I picked out or the swaddle blanket I bought. He is excited about one thing: the baby. I will try to remember that over the next 6 months.

The cat doesn’t give two shits about the baby, and in fact doesn’t like babies. We had our friends Allie and Greg over for New Years Eve. They brought their tiny baby over and Sanch thought it was another cat with a better blanket than him. He could not wrap his tiny brain around what it was. He explored, but was petrified. So, it should be fun teaching him that he will soon be second in line for cuddling and attention.

I wish I had better stories to tell. I wish I could tell you that we won Mega Millions and Laef gave me and extra $50 for spending money, but out of five tickets we had ZERO numbers. So we’re back to the grind, but as far as I can tell, 2011 is going to be like no other year!